


The Kids Aren't Alright

by permets (minyrrds)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, I promise it gets happy in the end, M/M, Multi, Soul Bond, THERE'S SO MUCH FUCKING ANGST, WHY KENNY WHY, it just takes a lil bit of angst to get there, soul mark au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minyrrds/pseuds/permets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t unheard of for a person to have two soulmates. It wasn’t unheard of for a person to have no soulmates. That’s just how things worked. However, it was a rare sight for someone to lose their soulmate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When It Rains It Pours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sparcck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcck/gifts).



> I'm literally so fucking sorry this is so angsty  
> I promise I didn't mean for it to end up like this but somehow it did??? 
> 
> Credits to Saul for being hella amazing and being awake while I frantically wrote this in the middle of the night bcs thank u for being inspiration  
> All original credit to Ngozi for creating these dumb gay hockey boys for me to love
> 
> Title from "The Kids Aren't Alright" by Fall Out Boy, literally the only thing I listened to while writing this (I'm not even a little kidding)
> 
> I essentially wrote this entire thing over the course of 24 hours (with breaks for food and sleep and a few errands) and honestly I've never been so proud of something I've written in my life 
> 
> I really hope you like it!
> 
> I tried to get as close to a couple of your prompts as I could, I hope it got there.
> 
> come say hi on [twitter](http://twitter.com/virquo)!

It wasn’t unheard of for a person to have two soulmates. It wasn’t unheard of for a person to have no soulmates. That’s just how things worked. However, it was a rare sight for someone to  _ lose _ their soulmate. 

 

When he was seventeen years old, Kent Parson learned what it felt like to lose a part of yourself. The cherry red bruise that covered his chest (evidence of the first time Kent had slammed into Jack when they met, ten years old and fumbling with their protective gear on the ice) had faded away to the pale skin that hid underneath, and Kent couldn’t seem to stop crying. He locked himself in his bathroom and sobbed and shook, rocking back and forth, hugging his knees to his chest in a desperate attempt to convince himself if he looked down, the red stain of Jack’s bond would still be there.

(No matter how much he hoped, it wouldn’t come back)

It was hours before he left the bathroom, showered and skin rubbed so raw that in he looked at himself in the light just right he could still see the outline of where his soulmark had sat, not twenty four hours ago. His mother had walked into his hotel room while he was still looking for a shirt, dress pants sagging around his waist and hair in a frenzy and had just stood there, hand to her mouth, while her son grieved inwardly. 

“Oh, honey,” Catherine started, reaching out a hand. 

“Don’t mom,” Kent’s voice broke. “Not right now. In an hour I have to be sitting out there, listening to all these fu- people talk and act like they wanted me to go first and not Jack because everyone was always expecting Jack and here I come, little nobody kid from upstate New York, going first in the draft, and I have to get on that stage and smile and act like this is the greatest day of my life and I just can’t-” his voice caught. “I can’t do that if you say anything about it. Please, just. Not right now.” 

Catherine nodded and a watery smile spread over her face. Kent was finishing buttoning his shirt and had moved on to tying the solid black tie that he had left hanging on the lampshade next to the bed. 

“You look dashing, honey.” 

Kent tried for his signature combination of a smirk and a smile, cocky enough to irritate but charming enough to always manage to get people’s attention (and Jack flustered, but Kent was trying to ignore that part), but fell just a touch flat. “Thanks mom. At least they’ll give me a cap to shove over this stupid cowlick.” 

He ran his hand over his hair anxiously before smoothing down his fussy cowlick for what felt like the hundredth time that day. 

Catherine tried for a laugh, but like Kent’s smile, it too fell short. 

“Are you going to immediately flip it backwards after the celebratory photos?” 

This time Kent really did smile. “You betcha.” 

Catherine walked over to her son and folded him into a hug. Despite being several inches shorter than Kent, she was a fierce hugger and Kent gave himself the moment to bury his head in his mom’s hair and breathe in her familiar scent. 

“You’ve gotten so far Kenny, I’m so proud of you.” She said, squeezing Kent tighter. “No matter what you think or whatever they may say, you deserve to go first and hold that jersey. You deserve it. And I know,” she took a deep breath, “I know that Jack would be happy for you that you were the one to get it.” 

Kent bit his lip so hard he could taste blood, squeezed his eyes shut, and silently willed the tears to not come spilling out like they had been all day. The last thing he needed was for people to talk, saying he had come to the draft with red eyes and insinuate that he wasn’t completely sober for the event (the last thing he needed was them to drag him down with all of the absolute bullshit they were spewing about Jack). So he counted to five in his head and exhaled as slowly as he could.

“Thanks mom.” His voice was thick with tears, and his shoulders shook despite the almost painful grip Catherine had on them. 

“Anytime, honey.” Catherine gave him one last squeeze for good measure before pulling back to take a look at him. “Ready to go?” 

Kent took a deep breath, pushed all thoughts of soulmarks and soulmates and  _ Jack Laurent Zimmermann  _ to the back of his mind, and squared his shoulders. 

“No, but here we are anyway.”

“That’s my boy.”

  
  


A world away, a broken boy lay in a hospital bed with tubes and machines galore, and rubbed at the space on his chest that had been bottle green ( _ The same colour as your eyes, Kenny _ ) before he had taken that last handful of pills. He watched the boy with the green eyes walk across the stage on TV and pull on a black jersey, smile for the cameras, and cheekily flip the snapback he had been given backwards so that the huge white ace was obscured and instead a small, blonde cowlick peeked out instead. A world away, a broken boy lay in a hospital bed and cried about all he had lost. 

  
  


In the space in between, Kent won a cup, and the first thing he thinks is  _ Jack deserves to be the one holding this cup, not me. _

He won an Art Ross, and a Calder. He smiled and got his picture taken and filled up the Aces’ record book, one line after another. He made friends, bought a cat, furnished an apartment. 

In the space in between, Kent tried to remember how to live without Jack perpetually beside him. 

  
  


“Hey, Parser,” Alex Tansi called over to Kent as practice was winding down and everyone was heading towards the showers. “You got a soulmate?”

Kent froze up for the tiniest second, long enough to be noticed by anyone paying attention, but short enough that he could brush off if Taner brought it up. “Nah, not about that shit bro, how could I deprive the ladies of a body like this?” 

Taner rolled his eyes. “Grow up Parse.” 

Kent forced out a laugh. “I’m good, thanks.” 

The conversation was steered to someone else on the team; Taner had recently found his soulmate, a sweet girl named Alexa, who had left a bright pink smudge up the length of his left arm. Kent was happy for him (or at least he was trying to convince himself that he was), but all of Taner’s excitement had brought back lingering memories of when he had first gotten his mark (and all the painful memories of the days immediately after it had faded, how he woke up every morning and rushed to the bathroom hoping it had come back, wanting, wishing, praying that it was all just a dream and he would have that bright red stain back against his skin and everything would be alright between him and Jack). 

 

He was ten and crying because he thought he was dying, ugly sobbing in the locker room once all the other kids had left, waiting for his mom to pick him up from practice. The color had been so vivid, so bright, and it had taken up his entire torso, Kent had been sure that he was bleeding under his skin and was going to die any minute. 

Jack had walked over to him, already dressed with hair plastered against his scalp from a shower. He was still soft around the edges, chubby cheeks and and awkward haircut, eyes that were just a little bit too big for his face, and an awkward way to how he held himself off the ice. Bad Bob Zimmermann’s son, desperately trying to live up to the fame his dad’s name had created for him. 

“Are you okay?” Jack’s voice was high, a little squeaky, and very, very cautious. 

“ ’M fine,” Kent said, rubbing his sleeve against his face.

“No you’re not. What’s wrong?” Even at ten, Jack was still taller than Kent, so it helped a bit when he sat down across from kent on the bench in the locker room, straddling the wood so he could look right at Kent, but not quite touching. 

Kent looked up at him with watery eyes. “ ’M gonna die,” he said through his sleeve. 

“No you’re not.” 

“Yes I am!” Kent whipped his arm away from his face and tugged the neckline of his shirt down. “Look I’m bleeding!” 

Jack studied his torso curiously, turning his head this way and that for a few moments before the smallest of smiles crept on his face. “You’re not going to die; that’s a soulmark.” 

Kent’s crying had left him with hiccups, small and far between, but hiccups nevertheless. His hiccups jumped through his small frame as he carefully pulled his shirt back up. 

“Those aren’t real, you only see those on TV.” 

“They’re real, my maman and père both have them. They glow just like that, and they’re bright like that, that’s how I know it’s a soulmark.” Jack was full on smiling now. “Did you just get it?”

Kent nodded. 

“Oh, good. I think you might be my soulmate.” 

Kent’s mouth had slipped open as Jack reached to pull off his own shirt, showing off a bottle green stain that was the exact same size and shape as Kent’s own mark. 

“The same colour as your eyes, Kenny.” 

There were small crinkles around Jack’s eyes when he smiled, and Kent was pretty sure he had never seen Jack with such unbridled joy so clearly on his face before. Jack smiled like Kent had hung the moon, like this was the greatest gift he had ever been given, greater than hockey ever, Jack smiled like Kent was someone worth wanting. It hurt Kent just to look at that. 

“Jack, are you almost done?” Bob’s voice rang out through the locker room. Jack’s smile dimmed somewhat (Kent would have given anything to make it come back). 

“Over here Papa!” 

Bob walked over to the two boys, concern settling over his features as he realized Kent had only very recently stopped crying.

“Everything alright between you two?” He remembered that Jack had slammed into this boy during the game (Jack had been trying to keep from knocking right into the boards and had knocked into Kent instead). 

Jack looked at Kent for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to his dad, showing his newly coloured torso. “Yeah. Kenny’s my soulmate, papa.” 

 

“Yo, Parser, you coming or what?” Saul, the Aces’ starting goalie, called out to Kent as Saul and a couple of the guys on the team left the locker room. 

Kent’s head snapped up. “Sorry, what?” 

“You coming to Taner’s for the party, or what?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be there.” Kent finished pulling on his shoes and grabbed his bag. “Gonna go home and change first though. I’ll meet you guys there?”

Saul gave him a thumbs up and left. 

The building was quiet and the parking lot almost empty by the time Kent made it out to his car (a small miracle). He gave himself a minute, once he was all settled in, to stare at his phone, and will himself not to text Jack with a “Hey remember when-” like he had willed himself almost every practice since he had started with the Aces. It wasn’t even very hard to do anymore, but it was always a present thought at the back of his mind ( _ Jack would’ve found this funny _ or  _ Jack would have skated better than that _ or  _ Jack would’ve loved this _ ), and today it was just a little harder than it had been yesterday. 

Kent typed out a text to no one in particular:

_ Remember when you kissed me after we won our first game  _

He deleted it, dropped his phone into the cup holder, and drove an invisible race home. 

  
  


On the other side of the country, a boy who was a little less broken went to school, made friends, and played a little bit less like his life depended on it. He never typed out texts to no one in particular filled with remember when’s.

  
  


In the space in between, Kent won another cup, smiled for a whole lot more pictures, and picked up a few more trophies and records on the way. 

Living was easier; forgetting was the hard part. 

  
  


Kent didn't do hookups. 

Or rather. He did, but with a few specific terms. 

He never touched more than absolutely necessary (though he’d be damned if his next soulmark stained his lips or his dick first), but he did do a small test right before he decided he wanted to get someone in his bed by dragging his fingertips across their open palm to see if any colours stained (he kept telling himself it was relief that he felt when the skin stayed the same colour it had been before, not disappointment). He  _ never _ did feelings, nothing even remotely close to a relationship even touched his life, but he did tend to hook up with the same people, if only to keep the possibility of marking someone he decided to have a one night stand with was less. And finally, no blue eyes and never hockey players.

It never got any easier, trying to not imagine that it was Jack he was fucking, it never got any easier trying to tell himself that these hookups didn’t matter, it never got any easier waking up and not seeing the bright red stain on his chest, but he still got on anyway. 

It was harder when his hookups had soulmarks themselves: greens, oranges, purples; sometimes in the most innocent of places, sometimes not. Everything that Kent so desperately wanted but ran away from at the same time, played out on other people’s bodies. He never asked why they were hooking up with him when they obviously had a soulmate out there somewhere, and they never volunteered the information. Kent told himself he liked it better that way, but the disappointment still hung in the air the mornings when he woke up and the lack of light in the room make his eyes think that the person sleeping beside him in his bed had black hair and sharper cheekbones than he remembered, before he looked down and saw a bare chest and reality crashed over him. 

  
  


Two thousand miles away, a boy who was a lot less broken met his own personal sunshine, and he thought  _ Maybe this time, I won’t fuck it up.  _

He has morning checking clinics and the first time he goes to press his shoulder up against this brilliant boy, he finds his arm stained with yellow after, bright and golden, just under his sleeve. 

(Later on, Eric Bittle finds a mark, bright blue and distinctly glowing across his upper right arm; his smile could light fires). 

  
  


It seemed like a good idea, at the time. The Aces were in Boston for a game against the Bruins, they had won, and everyone was a little giddy with the thrill of rounding out a roadie with a victory. They had elected to stay the night in Boston (in no small part due to the amount of shots the entire second and third line had downed in the hour right after the game had ended, that had pretty much guaranteed a morning flight back to Vegas) and Kent had decided renting a car to drive out to #Epikegster2k14 wasn’t the worst idea in the world. 

Oh how wrong he was. 

He had walked in and saw Jack smiling, saw a small blonde boy with huge brown eyes looking up at Jack like he had hung the moon, saw every little bit of hope he had coming here crumble right in front of him. 

Kent slipped on the comfortable mask he had perfected after years in the NHL, after all the questions and stares and whispered comments that maybe he wasn’t as good as Jack Zimmermann, and smiled the easy smirk that used to leave Jack stuttering and flushed bright red (a similar tinge to the stain on Kent’s skin). 

“I wouldn’t believe it if I weren’t seeing it myself.” Kent always did know how to kick himself when he was down; he was the best at it. “Jack Zimmermann. At a party.  _ Taking a selfie. _ ” 

Though it didn’t quite result in a flushing, stuttering Jack, it did succeed in getting Jack’s attention away from the small blonde boy under his arm, and onto Kent. 

“Kent.” Jack stare was wide eyed, and Kent remembered all the times he had seen Jack with that exact same expression on his face (always at hockey, or something to do with his dad, or his pills, or his psychiatrist, never Kenny, never him). 

“Hey Zimms,” Kent affected an exaggerated slouch. “Didja miss me?” 

 

It didn’t end the way he wanted. 

There was shoving and shouting and the words that Kent knew would hurt the most shot at Jack with all the intention to make him bleed. A kiss he had been craving for  _ years _ pressed against his lips and he had thrown it away like an idiot because he had seen a bright yellow stain against Jack’s skin and lost it. 

He had seen yellow and he hadn’t seen green and that just ripped a whole new hole in him that Kent hadn’t previously thought possible. 

So he did the only thing he knew how to do; he lashed out. He wanted to make Jack hurt as much as he had been hurting right then, like he was seventeen again, crying in the hotel bathroom right before the draft, realizing that Jack was never going to love him the same way ever again. He went for blood and found it. 

(It wasn’t until later, after he had pretended to make nice with Jack’s friends, play it cool and play beer pong with them, taken photos, act like nothing was wrong and then drive back to Boston in the middle of the night, when he was in his hotel room alone, sitting in the tub and letting the water rise around him, that he let himself fall apart. It wasn’t until he was alone, and he could have sworn he was seventeen again, in a hotel in an unfamiliar city, the weight of the world sitting on his shoulders, and a gaping hole in his chest that nothing in the world could fill, that he let himself cry and shake and regret everything about that night.) 

 

Except he didn’t, not really, because if only for a moment, he was pressed against Jack, and Jack was pressed against him, and they were kissing, and it was almost like  _ before _ . 

Except it wasn’t. 

  
  


Miles away, Jack Zimmermann cried about everything he lost, and hoped for everything he dared to dream about. 

Miles away, Jack kissed a boy with a smile like the sun and marveled at the sight of the bright blue stain he had left on Bitty’s arm, lined his own yellow marked arm up against Bitty’s and let his heart feel full at the love that was growing between them. 

He went to bed with dreams of brown eyes and soft kisses, completely forgetting the boy with the brittle smile and bottle green eyes that had marched back into his life; there wasn’t space for him there anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to note: 
> 
> Ngozi has basically said that Kent was born [either in 1990 or 1991](https://twitter.com/ngoziu/status/558075391634866176) so for the sake of this story it's 1991.  
> I know that in baby hockey they're extra careful about kids wearing their protective gear, but in this instance, it wasn't so much that they couldn't get it on but more that the bond was strong enough to mark through it.  
> Kent's twitter handle isn't real (it was actually surprisingly difficult to find one of his that wasn't in use by someone real).  
> The Q is usually for 16+ kids, and Kent's birthday is in the middle of off season so, that's really fun  
> You can be drafted if you're seventeen if you will be eighteen by September of the year you're being drafted. The draft is usually held in the middle to the end of June, so a few weeks before Kent's birthday, which is why he is seventeen when it happens.  
> People lose their soulmates when something major alters their life trajectory and alters the plans they previously had, so it happens, but it's not often that something major will upheave a bond like that.


	2. In The End, I'd Do It All Again

Kent took a few days off after that, his a scratch with an unspecified injury so that he wouldn’t lose his streak. 

The boys come to his place after practice, try to fill the empty penthouse apartment with noise and clatter, playing on Kent’s new Xbox 360º and Playstation 3, ordering pizza and declaring it a cheat day, getting drunk and fighting for who could feed Kit Purrson with the treats Kent always kept stored around the place. Kent appreciated it, he really did. It kept him from hiding in his own head for a few hours.

 

They were fourteen and it was summer. 

Jack’s parents had invited Kent to come visit them for two weeks; a week in Montreal and a week at a small cottage they kept in Nova Scotia. 

Kent talked Jack into slacking off for the second week: if they kept up with the absurd training schedule Jack had started to enforce on the two of them (they were a pair now, get one and you got the other, forever and always), then they could relax and drink soda and just  _ hang out _ when they got to the cottage. It worked, and here they were a week later, stretched out by the water, soulmarks on full display while they wore only swim trunks, and let themselves try to convince each other that they were regular fourteen year olds for a few days. 

Two days in, Bob and Alicia left the boys alone for a full day while they went on a date in the city. Kent woke up later than Jack, and padded down to the kitchen to see Jack sitting on the couch, crossed legged, eating a bowl of some healthy cereal that tasted like cardboard, and watching the NHL network. 

Kent went and brushed his teeth before he got himself a bowl of the sugariest cereal he could find in the kitchen and went to sit beside Jack. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s a Saturday. Which means there’ll be cartoons on. Which means I’m commandeering use of the remote, Zimms.” Kent put the bowl down on the table directly adjacent to the couch and made a grab for the remote but Jack held it high over his head and out of Kent’s reach. 

“Be careful Kenny, commandeering is a big word, wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.” Jack said with the hint of a smile on his face. 

“Shut up Zimmermann, and give me that remote.” 

Jack gently put his bowl of cereal on the opposite side table and continued to hold the remote out of Kent’s reach. 

“Nope.” He popped the p.

“Zimms, cmon, you promised no hockey stuff this week,” Kent whined, leaning back. 

Jack faltered a bit, letting his arm slide down closer to him and Kent made a lunge for it, landing right in Jack’s lap but victoriously brandishing the remote. 

“Gotcha!” 

“Hey Kenny?” 

Kent turned around, still balancing on one arm, still haphazardly stretched across Jack’s lap. 

“Yeah Zimms?”

Jack bit his lip and looked down at Kent with a pinched expression. 

“Is it okay if I kissed you?”

Kent considered him for a second. This was his soulmate, the person who he was destined to be with for the rest of his life. They had known for years at this point, but never had done anything about it, content to just be best friends for now while other boys got into girls and other boys (being gay didn’t matter to either of them, it was a pretty commonly occurring thing with soulmates). 

“Yes, but you have to smile first.” 

The unexpected response unfurled a smile across Jack’s face. 

“Okay.”

Jack leaned down and kissed Kent, just a soft peck on the lips, before pulling back and looking at Kent, his smile growing to the same smile that had stretched across his face when he had told Kent that they were soulmates. Kent’s heart felt full and a small pit of joy built up in his stomach. 

“That was nice.” Jack commented.

“Yeah,” Kent paused. “Now can we watch cartoons?”

Jack burst out laughing. “Yeah, Kenny, we can.”

Kent spent the rest of the day stretched out across Jack lap, not doing much of anything, but enjoying the small bubble they had built right there for each other. 

 

(Kent had stopped typing out texts to Jack after practice. He deleted Jack’s number altogether, and threw himself into bonding with his team, getting ready for the playoffs and holding onto his point streak. Making it through each day, trying to get the hole in his chest to grow smaller without much luck.) 

 

They were fifteen and it was summer. 

Jack had come down for Kent’s birthday, happy to spend the Fourth of July amidst BBQs and fireworks. Kent’s little sister, Beth, had been so excited to finally get to spend some time with Jack. She had only seen him here and there at Kent’s games that his family managed to come up for. Kent was staying with cousins during the season, closer to the New York border, but still close enough to Montreal that Jack and Kent could play on the same team. It was a four hour drive, usually, so it didn’t happen very often, and Beth was excited for the chance to share her favourite comics with Jack and hopefully muscle a few answers about her brother from him. 

Jack had spent the week alternating between awkwardly stammering through questions about him and Kent ( _ what’s it like to have a soulmate, Jack? Did you just know, or did you have to see Kent first? Did you two make out? Does it hurt? _ ) and becoming engrossed in Beth’s “Winter Soldier” comics. He would stay up way past Kent and get up way before Kent, and somehow managed to finish the series before the week was up (Beth went out and bought him a copy of the trade of the comics with her allowance and hid it in his back before he left for home). 

The parts of the week that Jack didn’t spend with Beth, or Catherine, or any other members of Kent’s family who had come down for the celebratory birthday party slash BBQ, he spent kissing Kent. 

Just kissing, nothing more, and sometimes cuddling before bed. They were figuring out the ways they fit together off of the ice. On the ice they were an unstoppable duo, but off the ice they were still figuring out how to just exist next to one another, even after five years. Jack had gone through another growth spurt (much to Kent’s annoyance), and Kent was still stuck at a measly 5’5”. Jack was all limbs and soft bits of baby fat that he still couldn’t seem to shake off, and Kent was short and blonde and still could (and often would) pass for a middle schooler, despite the fact that he would be entering in his sophomore year of high school in the fall. 

Things were starting to fit together, they were starting to make sense, and making out with Jack Zimmermann climbed it’s way to the top of the list of Kent’s favourite things to do, right up there with scoring a goal with an assist from Jack Zimmermann. 

 

They were sixteen and they were in the Q and it was the middle of the season. 

Jack was shaking in the bathroom, gripping the sink like it was the only thing holding him up (Kent would hazard a guess that it probably was). 

Kent was sitting on the edge of the tub, still trying to figure out whether or not it was okay for him to touch Jack, feeling awfully small and very helpless right there and then. 

“Zimms, is it okay if I touch you?”

Jack managed a tight nod. 

That was all the permission he needed. Kent got up from where he had been sitting and wrapped his arms around Jack’s middle, pressing himself against Jack’s broad back. Though there was still a several inch difference between the two, Kent squeezed Jack and held onto him like there was no tomorrow, burying his face in between Jack’s shoulder blades. Jack managed a shaky breath, and moved one of his hands to wrap around both of Kent’s. Kent pressed his cheek to Jack’s back and whispered just loud enough for Jack to hear. 

“It’s okay Zimms, we’re gonna get to through this together. I promise. I’m right here for you, always.” 

Jack nodded slowly, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The dilated pupils, mussed hair. Kent’s pale, freckly arms under his own, the bit of green peeking out from underneath his collar and thought,  _ Yeah, okay, maybe we can do this.  _

 

(The Aces make it to the playoffs and Kent should be happy, should be bursting with pride for his boys, but Jack Zimmermann keeps a persistent spot in the back of his mind, telling him that he could be better, they could be doing better, they could win the President’s Trophy- but then Kent reminds him of the curse and Jack shuts up for at least a little while. Somewhere along the way, Kent gets a referral for a psychiatrist and starts meeting with somewhat regularly, trying to figure out his own head before it messed up any more of his life.)

 

They were sixteen and it was almost summer. 

Their kisses were getting more insistent, their hands were sneaking down waistbands, and they itched for stolen time where it was just the two of them, and the rest of the world was gone. 

Kisses whenever no one else was around to see them, handjobs after practice, in the back seat of Jack’s car, in the showers when everyone else had cleared out of the building. Awkward blowjobs in Jack’s bedroom when Bob and Alicia left them alone (but not until after Jack had to suffer through the safe sex talk with Bob, and then Kent had to go through the exact same thing the very next day, complete with putting a condom on a banana), and experiments with a bottle of lube Kent hand managed to buy from a store on the opposite side of the city. 

They were sixteen and learning what it felt like to move with each other, awkwardly fumbling for things they had no experience with, but for once, finding an escape from hockey that made the furl in Jack’s forehead disappear, and left him loose-limbed and languid after. 

They were sixteen and having sex for the first time and Kent cried out, loud enough to make the neighbors hear, and they stripped the sheets and put new ones on the bed after, curling up with each other and talking about everything they could think of that wasn’t hockey. 

They were sixteen and it was going to be alright. 

 

(Kent still dreamt about Jack sometimes. Dreamt about the way Jack looked first thing in the morning, groggy and happy, always pleased to wake up to Kent. Dreamt about the way it felt to win a game together, to score off of a pass from Jack and help Jack score off of a pass from him. Dreamt about summers in Nova Scotia and the bottle green stain across Jack’s chest. Then he remembers the golden yellow on Jack’s arm and stays up all night watching reality television instead.) 

 

They were seventeen and Kent was standing alone at the draft thinking  _ Jack should be here, Jack should be the one going first. _

 

They were eighteen and Jack was coaching pee-wee hockey and Kent was figuring out how to live without a piece of him. He picked up the Calder on the way.  

 

They were nineteen and Jack was figuring out how to apply to college and Kent was winning his first cup, and picked up the Art Ross on the way. 

 

They were twenty and Jack got into Samwell and Kent got the C. 

 

They were twenty one and Jack was at Samwell and Kent won another cup. 

 

They were twenty two and Jack fell in love again and Kent didn’t. 

  
  


They were twenty five and facing each other on the ice for the first time. 

They both played center, it was what they were best at, and they were brutal on the ice. Kent had gotten past the gnawing hole in his chest every time he looked down and saw pale skin, every time he thought of the new mark on Jack’s arm, every time he remembered Eric Bittle was someone who existed and who had replaced him in Jack’s life (it had been a year, what else could he do), but seeing Jack again was like a whole new stinging cut burning under his skin. 

His team was protective of him, their Captain, their best man, they loved him fiercely and took every opportunity to slam Jack into the boards or onto the ice when he even came close to Kent on the ice, earning the Aces a record number of penalty minutes in the first period. They had shuffled back into the dressing room, an astounding 0-0 held onto purely by Saul’s determination alone, and received a thorough chewing out by their coach. They had come out for the second half and didn’t receive a single penalty call for the entire twenty minutes, racking up three goals between Taner and Kent alone, and entirely shutting out the Falcs, much to the stadium’s disappointment. 

Try as the Falcs might, a single goal from Jack in the third wasn’t enough to pull them up from a 3-0 deficit, and the Aces took the game, earning Kent more than a few noogies in the locker room afterwards. The press was brutal on both ends ( _ Parson, what was it like to play with Zimmermann again- or should I say against him? Parson, how did you handle your past history with Zimmermann when put in such close proximity? Parson, do you think had Zimmermann been a part of the entry draft your year, he would have gone first and you second, or do you think you would have still held onto the first spot? _ )

“Playing on the same ice as Jack again was great,” Kent said through a smile that was the product of years of media grooming and the same questions from his first year in the league thrown back at him now that he was older and had two cups and a few trophies under his belt. “We brought our A-game and the Falcs brought theirs. I’m pretty pleased with the outcome from tonight, Saul did an amazing job locking down the goal and Taner scored his 20th goal of the season. I think we’re having a pretty great year so far, not to jinx it.” 

Kent winked at the reporter nearest him before turning back to finish gathering his things. The boys called out to him, knocking shoulders on their way out to the bus, getting ready for the drive down to Boston for the game in a couple of days. Everyone was happy with the turnout of the game, especially because they knew how much it meant for Kent for them to win. Saul hung back to check up on Kent, who was taking his time clearing out his things, and sat down in the space open directly to the right of him. 

“How’re you feeling, kid?’

“I’m only two years younger than you Saul.” 

“Yeah, so you’re a kid. How’re you feeling, playing against your old soulmate?” 

Kent froze. 

“He’s not my soulmate.”

“That’s why I said ‘old soulmate’. Keep up, kid.” 

Kent turned to look at Saul, wide eyed and pale, trying his very best to keep it together. 

“How’d you know?”

“You think I’m stupid? I’ve seen the way you look at him, when he’s on tv, when you saw him for the first time stepping out on the ice tonight, the way you cringe whenever he comes up in conversation, and the way you always rub the same spot on your chest whenever anyone so much as mentions the name ‘Jack’. Now, I know there’s nothing there because I’ve seen you walking around here without a shirt on, so what I’m guessing is that you had a mark at one point, and now it’s gone?”

Kent nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s what I figured.” Saul went quiet for a moment. “Same thing happened to my sister.”

The locker room was deadly quiet, save for the two of them. Kent took a seat next to Saul. 

“It did?”

“Yeah, guy got hit in an accident, suffered from major amnesia. One day she’s sitting next to him in the hospital, half asleep on a chair, the next her soulmark is gone and the guy wakes up with no memories of her whatsoever.” 

Kent gave himself a quiet moment to grieve with this woman he didn’t know, but suddenly understood so much. It was a terrible feeling unlike anything else he had ever experienced in his life, and he hoped to never relieve the experience (better to have Jack as a soulmate once than have the possibility of going through separation again). It was pain in the worst kind of way, and it absolutely tore through Kent.

“If you ever want to, uh, talk to her about it, let me know? I’ll give you her number.” 

Kent nodded a quiet thanks, and Saul stood up, clasping a hand to Kent’s shoulder.

“It’s gonna be okay, kid. Maybe not right now, maybe not anytime soon, but some day, it’s gonna be okay.” 

Saul left without much else said, grabbing his bag and walking out of the room quickly enough to give Kent a moment of peace before anyone came looking for him, and Kent willed himself not to cry with every little bit of strength he had left in him.


	3. I'll Be Yours

In retrospect, he really shouldn’t have stopped dead in the hallway to stretch, but then again, how was he supposed to know that Eric Bittle was going to come barreling down the hallway and run right into him? All it took was one moment, one incredibly ill timed (or, depending on how you looked at it, well timed) moment for his exposed hip to collide with Bittle’s bare arm for his world to come completely crashing down.

Streaked across Bittle’s forearm was a smooth patch of Emerald green, brighter than any soulmark Kent had ever seen; it glowed, bright and happy across the skin of his arm. Everything stopped right then, everything narrowed down to this small southern boy, fuming beside Kent and a tirade streaming out of his mouth like there was no tomorrow and damn it, he was going to make sure that Mr. Famous Big Shot Kent Parson would watch where he was going when walking down busy hallways. Kent’s heart felt like it was going to give out, a flush grew from around his collar all the way up to his cheekbones, and he was actively reminding himself to breathe, in and out. His wide-eyed gaze shifted from Bittle’s arm to his face so quickly that the sudden attention startled Bittle.

“Are you even listening to me?” Bittle huffed, his tone surly.

Kent tried for words, but nothing came out. For the first time in a long time, he was speechless. Here was his second chance at happiness, real and there, just within reach. And then reality came crashing down and he remembered, this boy wasn’t his to take, he wasn’t his to love, he was Jack’s, and Kent Parson was done with being tangled up in Jack Zimmermann’s love life.

“Kent Parson, I am not just gonna stand here while you gape at me open mouthed, I don’t care who you are-”

“Fuck.”

The exclamation startled Bittle, despite the fact that it wasn’t particularly loud. The flush that had been creeping across Kent’s face drained out as quickly as it had come, and Kent, who had just a moment ago looked like his whole world had shifted for the better, now looked as if he was going to throw up right there in that very hallway.

“Pardon me?”

“Fuck.”

Kent gestured weakly at Bittle’s arm, and swallowed, hoping to clear the dryness in his mouth.

Bittle froze. “Oh my.”

Kent’s heart was beating faster than it had the first time he was handed the Stanley Cup and he was sure that his hands were never going to stop shaking. Gently, he lifted the hem of his shirt where he had felt Bittle collide with him, and sure enough, there was a golden stain spread across his hip, the exact same size and shape as the mark on Bittle’s arm. Bittle carefully lifted his arm to mirror Kent’s hip and pressed the fingers of his other hand to his mouth. He looked up at Kent with those huge, brown eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Jack’s voice calling for him from around the corner.

“Eric? Are you over there?”

That was enough to shatter the moment.

Kent all but leapt back away from Bittle, almost as if Bittle had burned him, and ran the opposite direction down the hallway as quickly as he could. Image be damned, he was not about to face his ex-soulmate immediately bonding with that person’s current soulmate. There wasn’t enough money in the world, enough Gold Medals, enough promised Stanley Cups that would convince him to do that.

So he left Bittle standing there all by himself, and ran with everything he had for the team bus.

  


“You alright, kid? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Kent slid into the seat next to Saul, still shaking and still internally debating the merits of throwing up in the middle of the bus.

“Hey, Kid. Kid. _Parson_.” Saul had taken out his headphones and was sitting up straighter now, watching Kent with a nervous eye. “What happened.”

Kent looked up to meet his eyes, and for the upteenth time that day, willed himself not to cry. Instead, he reached for the edge of his shirt and showed Saul the newly minted soulmark that was glowing there.

“Well shit.” Kent nodded. “That from anyone special?”

Kent tried for a laugh, and somehow it came out as genuine, if not a tad bitter.

“Yeah, Jack Zimmermann’s boyfriend.”

“Fuck.”

“That’s what I said.” Saul barked out a laugh, and Kent bumped shoulders with him, some of the tension draining from his frame; it had been the longest night Kent had gone through since the draft.

Saul gave Kent a once over, before sitting back in his seat.

“Well this oughta be fun.”

It really would be.

  


The rest of the roadie passed without much fanfare. The Aces won their game against the Bruins, Kent acted like nothing was wrong and joked along with the guys, and they came home overall a happy group.

Kent got home after a short talk with Saul, a new number programmed into his phone, and a new bag of treats for Kit Purrson. The white fluffy cat in question was waiting for him by the door when he walked in, mewing loudly and wrapping herself around his ankles so that he had to stop right in the doorway to pet her and pick her up or else he was never getting inside. He kicked the door shut behind him and went to sit down on one of the long, black couches that lined his living room and faced the windows, showing off downtown Las Vegas in all it’s glory. He pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket and Skyped his mom, like he did after every roadie, to let her know how the games went and check up with her life.

“Hey mom,” he waved Kit’s paw at the camera. “Kit says hi.”

“Hi, honey.” Catherine’s pixilated photo showed up on his phone screen and she waved right back at the two of them. “How was the trip?”

Kent gave her the glossed over version of everything: highlights from the game, some of the dumber things the guys had gotten up to, the good food he had tried in Boston and Providence. He had gotten her and Beth tickets for the Aces game in New York in a couple of weeks and was hoping she would be able to drive down there, if not, he could switch them out for the game against the Habs that was on the same trip.

“That sounds great, honey. I think Beth would be happy to go to both, I can lend her the car for the trip to Montreal, if you want to just pick her up a ticket for that one? I should probably be able to get the night off for the game in New York though.”

Kent smiled and made a mental note to check in with Carol, the intern that handled the comp tickets, about them.

“So, Kenny, any reason why Alicia Zimmermann called me yesterday asking for your phone number for Jack?”

Kent nearly dropped his phone, and ended up gripping Kit so tightly that she hissed at him and he all but shoved her off his lap.

“Wh-what?” He took a deep breath. “Alicia Zimmermann called you for _what_?”

“Your phone number. For Jack. Evidently none of the Zimmermanns had your number, and Alicia thought a neat solution would be calling me to ask for it.”

“Uh-huh. What did you say?”

“I said if Jack wanted it so badly, he could call me himself, and even then I still wouldn’t be giving any of them your number, and that she could have a nice day. And then I hung up on her.”

The anxiety that had been building up in Kent’s chest shattered, and he burst out laughing.

“Nice job mom!”

Catherine smiled, looking particularly pleased with herself.

“Thanks, sweetheart. It was kinda fun actually.”

“I bet,” Kent smiled at his mother before yawning. “I’m gonna take a nap, I’m beat. Talk to you later, mom.”

“Bye, honey, love you.”

“Love you too, mom.”

Kent tapped out of the call and stretched out on the couch. He figured after that weekend, he at least deserved a nap.

He check his twitter before he went to bed to see that he had two notifications waiting for him from Eric Bittle.

 

\+ **Eric Bittle** has followed you!

 

 **Eric Bittle** @omgcheckplease

Hey @kentparson90 nice game tonight!

 

At this point, he was too tired to even put up a mild panic at the thought of talking to Bittle. He had had three days to panic and deal with it in between the press and games and practice and he was just _tired._ So he tapped through to Bittle’s profile and pressed the follow button before sending him a direct message.

 

**Kent Parson**

so I’m guessing ur the reason why jacks mom called mine for my number  
it’s 7025550397  
just don’t give it to jack, alright?  
I’m gonna nap, gimme a call in an hour or smth if u wanna talk

  


An hour later, on the dot, he woke up to a call from a 513 area code that his phone helpfully supplied was from Georgia.

“Hello?” Kent rubbed a hand across his face in a half hearted attempt at waking up.

“Is this Kent Parson?” The accent drew out his vowels, and Kent immediately recognized the voice.

“Yeah, call me Kent, or Parse. Everyone does.” He stretched out under the covers and folded an arm behind his head.

“Alright, Kent. I’m Eric Bittle. You can call me Eric or Bitty.” He paused. “Everyone does.”

The smallest smile grew on Kent’s face and he huffed a laugh.

“Hi Bitty.”

“Hi Kent.”

The two of them sat on the phone like that for a few minutes, just breathing and trying to figure out what to say to each other.

“So, we’re soulmates.”

This time Bittle laughed, small and nervous.

“Seems to be that way, doesn’t it.” Bittles voice was a combination of mildly amused and very anxious; Kent understood the feeling.

“Mmhmm.”

Kit Purrson had leapt onto the bed and was currently nestling in the space between Kent’s arm and the crook of his neck, her tail methodically whacking him in the face with her tale as it lazily flopped from side to side.

“We should probably talk about that.”

“Sound’s like a great idea, you go first.”

Bitty took a deep breath.

“Well, you know I’m already bonded with Jack-”

“People can have more than one soulmate.” Kent’s chest felt uncomfortably tight.

“Yes, I know. I’m jussayin’, Jack is _also_ my soulmate. And from what I’ve gathered, he used to be yours, too.”

Kent snorted. “A lifetime ago, yeah.”

Bittle went quiet, and Kent took it as a sign to continue.

“We were soulmates for a couple of years and then, ah, well. Jack's OD happened and then we were...not.” Kent rolled over to bury his face in Kit’s fur for a moment. “I don’t really want to talk about it over the phone, if that’s okay?” He felt so small in that moment, like he was ten years old again, crying because he thought he was dying, curled up in the corner of the locker room and trying to pull himself together again.

“Okay, that’s fine.” Bittle seemed to be trying to fight a war with himself about what to say, but Kent cut him off.

“Do you want to come out here? For like a weekend or something? I can fly you out.” Kent all but held his breath.

It took Bitty a few minutes to respond, but when he did, it loosened the knot tying itself in Kent’s chest.

“Yeah, I think that’d be...the easiest way to work through this.”

“Great,” Kent was smiling now, a soft, small thing. “Text me when you’re free and I’ll figure out tickets?”

“Okay, that sounds good.”

They were quiet, on the line for a few minutes longer, before Bitty spoke.

“I think I have to go, morning practice and all that.” Kent checked the time on his watch and muttered a quiet curse at how late it was on the east coast. “It was nice talkin’ to you, Kent.”

“You too, Bitty.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Kent put the phone down and groaned into Kit’s fur.

  


They texted.

Little, inconsequential things, but they texted.

Kent sent Bitty photos of the team at practice, when the guys were being particularly stupid, or funny photos of him the guys had taken at practice (one particular photo had him on the floor, sweaty and grinning after practice, still fully in his gear, sitting on the ice; Bitty had saved that one). Bitty sent back photos of pies he was making, or small things about the games they won, or the different members of the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team. Slowly, they got to know each other, and wormed their way into each other’s lives.

Kent learned that Bitty’s favourite kind of pie was blueberry, and Bitty learned that Kent liked chocolate chips in his pancakes. Kent learned that Bitty used to be a figure skater, and Bitty learned that Kent had always wanted to be able to jump on the ice like that, but the one time he tried he managed to chip one of his bottom teeth on the ice. Kent found out what Bitty’s favourite color was (red), exactly how much he loved Beyonce (more than pie), and that Bitty had never traveled farther West than Birmingham, Alabama (once, when he was seven, on a school trip). Bitty learned that Kent was afraid of spiders (always had been), watched Saturday morning cartoons every Saturday he could (because he was secretly still a child, even at twenty five), and his favourite fruit was blackberries (Bitty had later looked up several new recipes for blackberry pie he wanted to try out).

They started to figure each other out, test the limits of what they could and would talk about (never Jack, sometimes their bond, always hockey and food), and played games of would you rather.

 

Sometimes they called each other, moments where it was simply easier to talk on the phone than respond in long, rambling messages. They were getting better at it too, Kent was finding comfort in the familiar sound of Bitty’s voice, and Bitty liked Kent’s dry sense of humor, even if it was somewhat self deprecating at times. They were growing fond of each other, as much as neither of them wanted to admit it.

 

“Would you rather eat a whole glob of wasabi or take a Sriracha shot?” Bitty asked, giggling as he walked to class one day as Kent was heading to the rink for practice.

“Ugh,” Kent pulled a face. “Hard pass on both.”

“Nu-uh, that’s not how it works, Mr. Parson, and you know it!”

“But Bittyyyyy,” Kent whined, pulling his car into his parking space.

“No ‘but’s’ mister, answer the question.”

“Fine. Wasabi. But only if there’s a gallon of milk involved.”

Bitty laughed.

“I think it’d take the Sriracha.”

“You terrify me sometimes, you know that?” Kent was smiling as he grabbed his bag and got out of the car, locking it as he walked away.

“I try my best. Okay, I’m gonna head into class, talk to you later, honey.”

Kent nearly dropped his phone.

“Uh, yeah, bye, Bitty.”

And then Bitty did things like that, casually dropping in honey’s and sugar’s and sweetheart’s after they had been talking for a few weeks and they made Kent’s throat close up every time. Bitty was supposed to come out to Vegas the weekend before the Aces game against the Falconers, and that was only three weeks away. Though Kent and Bitty had been talking almost non-stop for the past month since Kent had gotten back from Providence, the thought of having Bitty there, in his home, still made him nervous (but slowly he was growing more excited at the prospect).

 

They fought sometimes, whenever one was being a little too pushy about something the other didn’t want to talk about. Shouting matches over the phone and angry Skype calls, things they wouldn’t- couldn’t- talk about becoming fodder for a raging argument (Kent never talked about what Jack was like before, carefully constructed stories so that they hinted at Jack, but never outright involved him; Bitty didn’t want to talk about what it was like, growing up closeted in the south, so he simply didn’t). They fought about small things, like forgetting to call each other back, or making decisions for the other person without talking it through first (the times Kent had simply decided to go to bed instead of messaging Bitty that he didn’t think they should Skype because Bitty was already staying up late enough for Jack, and Bitty had told him he could handle his own sleep schedule just fine, thank you Mister). They fought, but they never made it very long before they made up. They called each other and worked out what they had done so that they could try to not have a repeat incident, even though they weren’t always totally successful. They tried.

  


Kent was happier than anyone on the team could remember, and once someone spotted the bright yellow mark that covered the entirety of his left hip, the whole locker room was in an uproar. He had been good about hiding it for a few weeks, but eventually, someone who wasn’t Saul noticed, and the entire team suddenly wanted details.

“Nope, nu-uh, not happening!”

Kent tried his hardest to get out of giving any real identifying information to anyone about it, he still hadn’t had the conversation with Bitty about whether or not they were going to go public with this, whatever it was. So he gave the team little, unimportant comments about Bitty without ever painting a proper picture for them.

“Oh he’s blonde.”

“He likes to bake.”

“He’s a college kid, but he plays hockey too.”

Nothing too specific, but little parts of a person that the team inherently loved because of how happy he made their captain. So they joined in the fun of sending Bitty stupid photos of Kent off of his phone (Bitty was just saved under ‘B’ with a yellow heart next to his name- the fine Kent had gotten for that discovery was painful), asked for updates on how B was doing, sent their best wishes for game days. They were just happy to see their captain happy, Saul most of all.

 

“Seems like things are lookin’ up, kid.” Saul sat down next to Kent in one of the lounge areas, unwrapping his lunch.

Kent smiled to himself and then looked up, watching the somewhat satisfied look perch on Saul’s face.

“Yeah, they kinda are, old man.”

Saul scrunched up his nose at that. At twenty seven he wasn’t much older than Kent, but they had been friends since the first day of camp, and Saul had always been there whenever Kent had needed him. He was the only person on the team who had seen Kent completely fall apart, and he had stood there in between him and the rest of the world while Kent figured his shit out. Kent could tell Saul everything and never really have to worry that Saul would somehow use it to throw it back in his face; Saul was great like that.

 

He was seventeen and at camp, scared and shaking in the showers, trying to hold it together even though he couldn’t seem to make any of his passes connect or get anything resembling a real line going and he thought _This is it, this is where they’re going to realize that I’m not as good as Jack and that I don’t deserve to be here after all. This is it._

“Hey kid, everyone’s head out for today, so if you wanna lose your shit in the showers, now’s the time to do it.” Saul made himself busy, bringing over his shampoo and turning on the shower head furthest away from Kent, and the two closest to him, just to make enough noise that would drown out the noise of someone crying. Kent had stared at him for a second before all of the tears had spilled out and he ended up on the floor, a sobbing mess. Saul had let him cry it out, finishing up his own shower and slinging a towel around his waist, before he walked over to Kent and shut the water off and handled him a towel.

“C’mon kid, we’re gonna go get some pancakes.”

He had hauled Kent to his favourite diner: a hole in the wall place that had the best pancakes Kent had ever put in his mouth. Saul filled up the time with random facts about himself (he was born and raised in Chicago, never cared much for the Blackhawks, always ate Ben and Jerry’s on cheat days, hated running with a burning passion), and told him stories about his time in boarding school, or silly stories from his childhood. He left room for Kent to interject, talk about his own memories, share his own favourite things, but he never pushed, and slowly, after a few hours, Kent began to open up to him. Not all at once, but Saul learned how Kent liked his coffee (iced with milk), and that he preferred chocolate chip pancakes, and one time when he was nine he ate a whole gallon of ice cream in one go and got so sick he still can’t stomach pistachio ice cream.  

They hung out and Saul brought Kent back to his place after to let him crash there so that he wouldn’t have to sleep alone. They stopped by the apartment Kent was renting through camp and he packed a bag for the next few days. They talked the whole time, swapping stories, telling jokes, asking questions. By the next day, Kent was a lot less shaken up and managed to make it through the day without feeling like he was going to fall apart even once. And Saul was there for him through the rest of camp, and in the years since. Kent knew that he could trust Saul, and he returned the favour whenever possible. They were a pair, not stuck at the hip, but still two halves of a whole.

  


The days leading up to Bitty’s visit were a mess for Kent. He spent all of the time when he wasn’t either on the ice or talking with Bitty absolutely panicking. He had taken to sleeping in Saul’s guest room so that he wouldn’t spend another night cleaning his apartment again so that it’d be nice enough for Bitty when he got there; he was driving Kit crazy.

“He’s gonna love it either way.” Saul was dishing out stir fry for the two of them one night after practice, three days before Bitty arrived in Vegas for the weekend.

“Yeah but,” Kent ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I want it to be perfect, y’know?”

Saul snorted and ignored the comment, putting the pan in the sink and pulling up a chair next to Kent. His partner was currently working at a reserve in South Africa because they worked with endangered species. The apartment had little signs of them all over, and Saul himself sported a bright purple set of dots on the back of his neck from where his partner had reached to pick a small ladybug off of his neck when they met.

“Don’t have to be such a butt about it.” Kent pouted.

“Shut the fuck up and eat your damn dinner.”

  


The morning of Bitty’s flight, Kent called him on the way to practice.

“Hi babe.”

“Hi sweetheart, how’re you doin’?” Bitty’s voice was cheerful, but Kent could hear the underlying strain (Bitty always hated flying, and six hours was no joke).

“I’m okay. How’re you feeling about the flight later?”

“Oh lordy,” Bitty exhaled noisily. “Well I think I’m all packed and good to go, I’ve got whatever I think I might need to wear, plus that Aces jersey you sent me” (Kent smiled) “and my Flacs jersey for the game,” (his smile dimmed somewhat) “a few recipes for things I want to try, Señor Bunny, my french flashcards, my laptop, the essentials. And Jack said he’d drive me so-”

“What.”

“Oh,” Bitty let out a nervous little laugh. “Didn’t I mention that? Jack offered to drive me to Boston for the flight. It was optional skate today and he said he didn’t mind driving me, ’specially since we won’t really be Skyping much this weekend and all.”

They hadn’t really discussed how Jack fit into all of this, where exactly he stood. He was Bitty’s boyfriend, technically, and they had never said that Kent was too. Kent wasn’t surprised that Jack had offered to drive Bitty, per say, but he was surprised that Bitty had taken him up on it.

“That sounds like fun,” Kent managed. “A nice drive for the two of you.”

“Mmhmm.” Bitty sounded preoccupied.

“Do you want me to let you go? I just wanted to check on how you were doing before the flight.”

“I’m sorry, sugar, I’m just trying to get everything in my back before Jack picks me up in twenty minutes; I don’t want to forget anything.”

“That’s okay. I’ll see you in a couple of hours?”

“Can’t wait.”

  


“Parson!”

Practice was nearing it’s end and Kent was practically vibrating with excitement. The nausea and worry were still battling it out in his stomach, but for the most part, Kent was excited to finally be able to spend some alone time with Bitty, and show him everything he had been trying to say for the past few weeks.

Kent skated up to the bench, and leaned over to talk to his coach.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“Change out.”

“Sorry, Coach?”

“A couple of the boys mentioned your soulmate was visiting for the first time. Change out, go pick them up from the airport. Have a nice night, son.”

Kent sputtered for a minute, trying to catch up.

“Are you sure, Coach? I can finish practice with everyone else-”

“Just go shower Parson, you stink.”

Kent’s grin could move mountains. “Yes, Coach.”

  


Kent paced grooves into the floor of baggage claim at McCarran Airport. His hat was pulled low over his face and he was wearing sunglasses indoors _at night_ , but nobody paid him any attention. Bitty’s flight was on time, his luggage (if he had any, and Kent, like an idiot, had forgotten to ask) would be heading to baggage claim by now, but there was no Eric Bittle in sight. Kent fought the urge to call him, he had sent a simple “i’m in baggage claim” text when he had arrived, and he hadn’t heard anything back.

He was just starting to get nervous when two pair of arms grabbed him from behind and wrapped around his middle.

“Do you know just how hard you are to spot, Mr. Parson?”

Kent shifted around in Bitty’s tight grip to look down at the smaller boy, smiling all the while.

“You could’ve called me.”

“Now where’s the fun in that?”

Behind Bitty was a massive carry-on with a backpack sitting on top of it, both sporting Samwell University luggage tags.

“Is that all you brought?” Kent asked, gesturing to the luggage.

“Yes! I tried to pack light…I don’t know if I was totally successful? I needed to figure out what I wanted to leave here for next time and what I wanted to bring back with me to Samwell. I was trying to remember the kinds of things I kept at Jack’s place and see if I could bring those here but- Honey, you’re gonna catch flies with your mouth dropped open like that. C’mon, we should head out before people start to stare.”

With that, Bitty shepherded one very stunned hockey player out an airport he had never been before and into an obnoxious yellow Lamborghini (but not without a comment first).

“Really, Kenny? A yellow Lamborghini? Could you be more unoriginal?”

That seemed to snap Kent out of it.

“Excuse you, she’s a beauty.”

“I’m sure she is,” Bitty patted his arm and smiled. “Now can we go home? I hate absolutely despise airports, lord.”

 

Unsurprisingly enough, Kit Purrson adored Bitty. She wouldn’t leave him alone for even a second, and Bitty happily chattered along about his day, how is flight was, the lovely woman who sat next to him and talked about her Habitat for Humanity projects (Bitty had worn long sleeves to cover both marks in order to avoid talking about them), all the while, Kit curled herself around his neck, purring contentedly.

“Oh lord, and then we hit turbulence over Colorado and I was _so sure_ the plane was going to go down and that sweet, sweet woman, talked me through it by explaining her family recipe for Lemon Bars that now I really need to try out.”

Gently, he slid Kit off from around his neck and placed her on the couch next to him, and turned to Kent.

“We’re gonna have to talk about this at some point, honey.”

Kent fidgeted a bit under his stare.

“I know, I just-” Kent lost his words.

“Yeah?” Bitty scotted closer to him, and curled up so that he was still facing Kent, but now his arm was touching Kent’s torso. His sleeve was pushed up showing the emerald color of Kent’s mark, and he poked at the place under Kent’s shirt where the yellow from Bitty hid.

“I don’t want you to think you have to pick, like, him or me?” Kent pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I just want you to be happy. And if that’s with me, that’s amazing. And if it’s with Jack, that’s great too. I just want you to be happy. And I want to be in your life. I just-”

“Honey, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Bitty’s soft hand tugged one of Kent’s hands away from his face, causing Kent to look at him with his uncovered eye.

“I _can_ date the both of you, you know. There’s no law saying I can’t. And I _want_ to date both of you. You’re sweet and goofy and a showoff and I like you so much, you’d be hard pressed to get me to leave you alone.”

Kent stared at Bitty. Here was someone so good, so wonderful, whose first impression of him was possibly the moment where he was the biggest asshole he had ever been in his entire life, but was still here, curled up next to him and trying to get him to calm down and telling him that he cared about Kent. It was almost too much.

“I can see you overthinkin’ this. C’mere.” Bitty tugged Kent down so that they were eye level and leaned in for the most gentle kiss Kent could remember. When he pulled back, giggling, Kent’s eyes were still closed.

“You call that a kiss, Parson?”

Kent’s eyes blinked open and a huge grin grew across his face.

“Oh I’ll show you a kiss, Bittle.”

The rest of the night was spent catching up on all the things they couldn’t do across Skype.

  


The weekend passed in a blur of kisses and long conversations in between Kent’s practices and his Saturday night game against the Sharks (Bitty had come in a Parson jersey and yelled his lungs out for the Aces, but he did make sure to get Joe Thornton’s signature on a Sharks tshirt for Chowder after). They talked out the terms of how their relationship was going to work (visits every other month, and whenever Kent was in the area for games, Skype calls when they could, talking about problems instead of trying to shush them over-not that they ever had any difficulty expressing that before), and what they expected of each other (communication, little reminders that they were doing okay, check-ins). They talked about how it was going to work around Bitty dating Jack, and Bitty’s college schedule, and what they were going to do in the summer when Bitty still didn’t know what he was doing or where he was staying. They talked about everything.

Well, everything except for Jack.

Bitty asked about everything else, and Kent answered.

Kent asked about everything else, and Bitty answered.

But Jack was a topic neither of them wanted to broach.

Eventually, as Monday night’s game against the Falcs grew closer and Kent nearly went to bed on Sunday night a panicked mess, Bitty had to say something.

“Honey, he just wants you to be happy, that’s all. It’s all gonna be alright, okay, sugar?” Bitty curled up next to him in the large bed, their legs tangled together and Kit trying to sleep at their feet. Bitty’s fingers gently stroked the stain across Kent’s hip and Kent kept his fingers loosely curled over the green mark on Bitty’s arm.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise.”

  


The game was a mess. Kent had driven to the arena with a kiss from Bitty and a small slice of blueberry pie in a tupperware (Kent always had something sweet to eat before games, it persistently baffled everyone he had ever worked with; Saul had taken to keeping a bag of Hershey’s Kisses in his locker for the rare occasions Kent had forgotten to bring something with him), and Bitty had taken a cab there a few hours later for the game. Bitty had promised Jack that he would wear his Falconers jersey, so he did, but he also wore one of Kent’s Aces snapbacks as well, twisted backward in the way Kent always wore it, and dealt with the awful mixture of responses he got from the people in the stands as he made his way down to the seats Kent had gotten him, right up against the boards.

The first period was all fighting, rough check and shoves from the Falcs that the Aces responded with in kind. There was hardly a minute that went by without someone in the penalty box and at one point they were playing three on three hockey (then both coaches called a time-out with two minutes left in the period and not a single penalty was called after it). The score sat at 0-0 through the end of the second, despite both teams desperately trying to score. The Falcs goalie held up shot for shot with Saul, and despite both Jack and Kent’s best efforts, no one could get on the board.

With five minutes left in the third and the score still tied at zero, Kent saw the opportunity for a shot, and went for it. Unfortunately (or, depending on how you looked at it, fortunately) for him, Jack also saw the shot that he could make and went to intercept it. Though Kent could see Jack coming up at him in his peripheral vision, he still went for the shot, not stopping for a second to even consider another option. Kent took the shot and it slid into the net, right past the goalies knees, and the whole thing lit up bright red. It was beautiful, it was perfect, it all but gave the Aces the game, and then Jack was slamming into Kent like a freight train without brakes. He had been going too fast to properly stop when the puck had left Kent’s possession, so when the two collided and landed on the ice, sprawled on top of each other, it really wasn’t a surprise (Bitty, however, was almost beside himself with worry). The collision was enough to knock the air out the both of them, so they were escorted off the ice to their respective locker rooms to be checked out by the team physicians and trainers as a precaution.

There was nothing physically wrong that the trainers could prove to be wrong, and once inside, their assistant coach admitted to Kent that they just wanted to avoid another major on ice brawl between the Aces and the Falcs as best as they could, so they thought it was best to get them out of there sooner rather than later. Kent nodded his understanding and headed for the locker room to change out, first pulling off his skates and socks, then pulling his jersey off and undoing all of his protective equipment.

He stopped short when red spilled into his vision after he pulled his shoulder pads off.

In the same place as it had sat when he was ten, crying in a locker room that was a lot dirtier and a lot smaller than this one, scared that his whole life was about to change because of the glowing cherry red mark across his chest (he remembered asking a doctor once, how it was that he and Jack had managed to mark each other through layers of protective padding, _Some bonds are just that strong- so strong that nothing can stop them from manifesting on both people with even the slightest bit of encouragement_ ). He sat there, gaping at his chest, feeling like he was going to throw up and let his whole world re-orient itself around him for the second time in three months. A noise in the hallway had him bolting up and out of the rest of his gear and running for the showers with a tshirt in hand to change into. Kent took the shortest shower of his life, and neatly dodged the media swarm in the locker room for the post-game coverage thanks to a well timed facial expression at Saul who successfully diverted their attention. He ran right down the hall and into a nervously pacing Bitty.

“Oh lord, Kenny you scared me, you can’t just go runnin’ up on me like- What’s wrong? Why do you look all scared like that? What happened? Is Jack alright? Are you alright? Kenny, honey talk to me?” Panic bubbled up in Bitty, though he managed to keep his body language calm and his voice quiet but Kent had no words to explain to him what happened.

“I just- I’ll show you when we get home, okay?”

Bitty teeth worried on his lower lip, but he nodded, turning to watch for Jack’s exit from the Visitor lockers.

“Here how about,” Kent’s teeth clacked together he was shaking so badly. “You and Jack catch a cab back to mine? I need a few minutes. Is that okay?”

Bitty’s eyes flit over to him, concern and worry clear all over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Kent adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Just wait for Jack and shoot me a text when you’re on your way over.”

“Okay.”

Bitty squeezed Kent into a hug and Kent pressed a soft kiss to his hair, before jogging out to his car and breaking several traffic laws in his rush to get home.

  


Kent was sitting in his bathtub, fully clothed, with his knees pulled up to his chest, and crying. His hair was drying funny, his cowlick was all over the place, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to breathe properly, and he was sure that his heart was going to stop with the amount it was pushing itself (he hadn’t cried like this since the night of the draft and his body was not keen to remember the feeling). The world had stopped and shifted back eight years and Kent had no idea what to do. He felt ten years old again, he felt seventeen years old again, he felt twenty years old again, he felt alone again. He felt so lost and so alone but everything he had wished for since the moment he woke up that day and his mark was gone to the moment he ran into Bitty and a new mark inked his skin had come back to him; his skin was cherry red and glowing like something fierce.

(But would Jack ever really want him back? After everything he had said? After everything that had happened between them? Would he still want him despite all of that?)

A knock on the bathroom door made Kent jump, but wasn’t enough to make him stop crying.

“Can I come in?”

Kent would recognize that voice anywhere.

“I’m dying.” He called back, his voice cracking in the process.

Jack pushed the door open and stepped inside, pressing the door closed behind him, and climbed into the tub across from Kent.

“No you’re not.”

“I’m pretty sure I am.” Kent always managed to give himself hiccups when he sobbed; this time was no exception.

“You’re not going to die from a soulmark, Kenny.” Jack’s voice was quiet in the large bathroom, echoing off of the tiled floors; he didn’t look Kent in the eye when he said it.

“No, but I might if it goes away again.”

Jack sighed and looked up at Kent.

“It’s the same color as your eyes, Kenny.”

“It’s the same color as the goal when you light it up, Zimms.”

The smallest smile curled on Jack’s lips.

“I missed you, Kenny.”

“I missed you, too, Zimms.”

They watched each other for a few minutes, Kent’s breaths eventually evening out and Jack reaching to grab him some tissues to blow his nose with. Red eyed and hiccuping, Kent pulled his shirt over his head to show Jack the all-too-familiar stain, and after a minute Jack followed suit. The two of them sat there, seeing everything they had lost and everything they had pieced together on the way to where they were. Jack saw the way Kent had grown, all alone in the NHL and struggling to make a name for a such a new team without any history. Kent saw a broken boy who had put himself back together and while he wasn’t perfect, at least he was whole. They saw their teenage selves, fumbling with love and struggling for perfection on the ice. They saw what they missed the first time around, and promised themselves that it wouldn’t happen again (later they would talk and talk and talk, later they would never stop talking about what they had missed, what they could do better, later they would kiss and touch and revel in all the things they lost).

(Later, they would tease their cute boyfriend about his baking habits and his expensive travel plans, later they would stay up all night Skyping and talking on the phone, later they would start to learn each other all over again, later they would fall in love and live happily ever after.)

 

In a bathtub in Vegas, a boy who used to be broken found his first love and he thought _Maybe this time, I won’t fuck it up._

  
They were twenty five, and they were going to be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy fucking shit I wrote 13450 words in 25 hours I didn't think that was POSSIBLE
> 
> anyway  
> I really hope you like it!! I had a lot of fun writing it and figuring out how this story was going to end (though I had the last line planned from somewhere around the beginning and it was SO SATISFYING to finally get there) and I really hope the happy balances out the angst 
> 
> <3


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